


The Lost Moments of Quid-Pro-Quo

by hannithecannihasabigfanny



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Life Conversations, Mental Institutions, Not Really Romantic But Almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannithecannihasabigfanny/pseuds/hannithecannihasabigfanny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many times that Clarice visited Hannibal that were lost to the world.  These are the stories of the not-so-important sessions of quid-pro-quo that they shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teasing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this forever ago - I don't even remember when and I can't find the date - and I decided that I might as well post it while I'm thinking about it. I don't plan to continue writing these, but if you've really taken a liking to them, I may very well just do more with it in the future!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Clarice, it is your turn. What do you have to ask me?” Hannibal inquired casually, his eyes betraying his enthrallment. He relished in these conversations that he had with her; no one else had interested him half as much as Clarice had. 

Clarice thought for a moment. She could attempt to interrogate him about the Buffalo Bill case, however he always managed to find a way around the subject. Her eyes darted over to her watch and she read the time.

‘It’s five-thirty. I guess that leaves plenty of time to ask him other questions. It might open him up a little bit so that I can question him properly. He won’t be completely open, of course, but even if he doesn’t open up, at least it will be interesting,’ she thought as her gaze returned to Lecter, who was awaiting her question. He smirked, his eyes displaying his intrigue. He must have been able to sense her differing approach before she even spoke.

“Doctor Lecter, were you well-liked in school?” she asked, staring into his eyes and searching them deeply. It was as if his habit of refusing to blink had begun to become reflected upon her. He glanced up at the ceiling in thought. He had anticipated a question of the personal nature, but he had not even began to expect a question that asked about his school life.

He inspected the ceiling tiles that he had dwelled underneath for such a long time. He inhaled the musty asylum’s scent as he attempted to bring forth more vivid memories of his childhood; he recalled the murder of his sister in his early adulthood, but he had otherwise dispelled the other memory fragments that remained from such a faraway time. His eyes displayed little emotion aside from utter thoughtfulness, even as the traumatizing images flitted through his mind and caused his fingers to twitch. He exhaled slowly and turned to Clarice.

“I apologize; it was difficult to recall much from my childhood. However, I am quite sure that I was not. My interests were far too peculiar for other children to comprehend. Also, I was mature for my age. Some children did not appreciate my realistic view on life. You see, an average child’s mind is said to be moldable like clay, and in some ways I agree with that statement, but socially, some children are only shaped by skilled hands. Their parents are the welders of their attitude. Metals cannot be molded by all, rather by skilled welders, whilst clay can be molded by anyone with hands to do so. So, when I attempted to convince them of my realist views, they shunned me because they were as closed minded as their parents were,” Hannibal replied, his sentences flowing with robotic precision. As Clarice had discovered early on, Hannibal’s sentences were often wordy and contained unneeded comparisons. It wasn’t because he was desperate to sound intelligent; it was because he felt the need. Clarice appreciated this about him.

It was dreadfully silent for a few moments as the stagnant air began to weigh on their shoulders. For a while, they gazed into each other’s eyes and ransacked each other’s psyches – or in Clarice’s case, attempted to – simply because they had the ability to. They seemed to learn much about each other this way. Once their eyes locked, they learned so much.

“I suppose that it’s your turn, Doctor,” Clarice replied after they broke eye contact.

Hannibal nodded as his gaze drifted to the ceiling once more. His desire for freedom was hidden, yet expressed within his movements. It wasn’t as if he desperately needed freedom itself; as he stated, he simply ached for a view. They had confiscated his drawings and stolen away his view for good.

“Clarice, how many times have you been abandoned by those that you love? How many times have you had trusted people lie without even bothering to look into those eyes of yours? Tell me; how many people have utterly destroyed your wings and screamed at you to fly? How many times have you had to avoid gazing into Crawford’s eyes because you don’t want to trust him? How many times? Tell me now, and do not even bother lying,” Lecter hissed, his eyes flashing as he awaited an answer.

As usual, Clarice was absolutely stunned. He seemed to be under the assumption that she returned the feelings for Jack, but it was because she had displayed embarrassment whenever the subject was mentioned. However, she had felt that way. She had been quite certain that she had grown used to his keen psychological abilities, but instances such as this one caused her to realize that she wasn’t used to it whatsoever. She struggled to remain calm and composed, however, when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing save for a strangled sound managed to escape. It was as if her vocal cords were being crushed by her tidal wave of emotions. Tears glazed over her eyes but never fell; they clung to her eyes in fear of being sensed by Lecter. She was so comfortable around him, but at the same time, she was petrified of allowing him to roam freely in her mind. However, she knew that that phobia was absolutely pointless; he had been in her head from the very start.

“Too many times to count, Doctor Lecter,” she choked, desperately struggling to will her tears away. She knew that he would be aware of them, but the notion still spooked her.

“As I thought, Clarice; as I thought. Now, when you have composed yourself, the quid pro quo shall continue,” he replied, his voice still as metallic as ever. He attempted to hide the excitement in his voice. He knew that she had to trust him for her to answer such a question truthfully. He would have said that his reason for excitement was because he could dissect her with more ease if she trusted him with everything that she knew, but he subconsciously had other reasons to establish trust, and he knew that. He was aware of his own emotions even if they were for the most part foreign to him.  
Clarice breathed in shakily, smelling the salty scent of her tears, and then wiped her eyes. There was no point in attempting to hide her distress now. He had obviously sensed it. She could tell by his posture; he seemed to be feeling content with himself. Her tears had been an obvious sign of her honesty.

“Doctor Lecter, why is it that you are so obsessed with the thought that I love Jack Crawford? I really don’t at all. As I’ve stated before, I’ve never even thought of him in that way,” she demanded, hoping to get an answer.

Hannibal paused for a second, honestly not sure of his answer. He’d never dwelled upon a reason for it, nor had he truly obsessed over it. He continued to ponder, but the more that he thought about it, the more that his mind disturbed him. He had one thought that continued to ram into his mind as he searched, but he attempted to ignore it.

'I would rather you not be with him, Clarice. He does not know what you want. He does not understand you as well as I do,' his mind insisted, but he was well-aware of how that answer would affect her view of him. He once again ignored the thought and decided to taunt her as she would predict him to.

“Agent Starling, there is no reason to lie to me; I am certain that you like Jack Crawford. There is no doubt about that,” he replied, purposefully dodging the question that Clarice had asked. It was immediately obvious that Clarice was agitated with this answer.

“Doctor Lecter, answer me,” she mocked him, knowing that it would shove him towards answering her, “I’m sure that you know I don’t appreciate being ignored.”

Hannibal sighed, an expression of mock worry painting its way onto his features. He had a plan; he would duck around the subject until she forfeited this game. He was deft at pushing people’s buttons, so this would be a relatively simple task for him.

“Oh Clarice, you’re just dying to end this session so that you can return to Crawford’s office and return to his loving embrace. I understand,” he teased, continuing to pretend to be concerned.

“Lecter, answer me right now! I refuse to leave until you answer me!”

Hannibal tut-tutted and spun on his heel, his worn shoes squeaking against the floor beneath him. He gazed up at the ceiling thoughtfully for a few seconds, acting as if he was actually deciding to answer the question.

“I suppose that that would be fine, given that Doctor Chilton would not allow you to remain here forever. I do believe you will be forced to vacate the premises at some point in time,” Hannibal retorted, stifling chuckles that were beginning to force their way out of his throat.

Clarice was absolutely livid at this point; she wanted answers.

“DOCTOR LECTER, TELL ME RIGHT NOW! I REFUSE TO CONTINUE THIS!” she shouted, hungry for answers.

‘The entertainment value of the game is beginning to wane; what a pity. I suppose that I might as well offer some sort of answer,’ he thought, turning around to face Clarice.

“Agent Starling, I would rather you not decide to indulge in relations with Jack Crawford. In my opinion, he would be of absolutely no use to you,” Hannibal replied, somehow managing to keep his voice as cold and emotionless as it had previously been.

“Doctor Le-,”

“Clarice, I do believe it is my turn. Mind your manners,” he interrupted, a cruel grin plastered onto his face.

And so it continued.


	2. Another Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal asks a question about monogamous love and Clarice is curious about his intentions.

Clarice tentatively made her way down the eerily quiet corridor of the asylum for the fifth time that week. It was so peculiar, but she found herself longing to return. There was something that continued to ensnare her. She wasn’t quite aware of what it was yet, but she knew that she felt as if she was chained to Doctor Lecter. Although the air in the asylum was musty and weighed her down as if it were a car on her back, she could not escape. As her heels clacked against the hard floor, she once again sensed the deadness of her surroundings. She hurried over to Lecter’s confinement that she saw at the end of the hallway.

“Back again, I see,” Hannibal’s voice chimed from within his confinement. He was positioned on the floor, appearing to be meditating. As Clarice neared him, she discovered that his eyes were closed and his legs were folded in the typical Buddhist fashion. She wasn’t shocked in the slightest when she found that he had sensed her with his eyes closed; she had become accustomed to his keen sense of smell. 

“Yes, Doctor Lecter. I have some questions regarding Buffalo Bill,” she stated calmly. She became oddly at ease for someone who was interviewing a narcissistic, antisocial, cannibalistic serial killer. 

They retained eye contact for a few seconds, neither of them blinking. They both seemed to comprehend that more would be discussed in this session; some sessions were more casual than others and for those, they agreed upon it without words. It was a dance of sorts, yet it was more complicated than any tango; the steps were quite easily misinterpreted. Clarice was often the culprit. She had not the experience of Hannibal.

“Ask away; however, our typical rules still apply. I assume that you’ll adhere to them?” Hannibal inquired, rising from his awkward position on the floor.

“Doctor Lecter, can you explain the significance of the triangular pattern that was cut from the victims’ backs? Is there a sort of correlation between it and something else?” Clarice knew that it was absolutely pointless, but after being present at the autopsy of one of the new victims, she had to pursue every route that she possibly could.

“Agent Starling, I believe that you are dissecting details that are trivial. In order for you to find him, you must focus on the more basic facts. That is all that I have to offer you as far as that question goes,” he replied, sounding somewhat disappointed with the inquiry. He had high expectations for her; she was an intelligent woman. It frustrated him beyond belief when she overlooked obvious answers. However, no one’s deductive reasoning was as well-trained as his own, of course.  


Clarice digested his words thoughtfully as she attempted to ponder the case in a different perspective. She would have to decipher it at a later time; she had plenty of time ponder over it. She would simply have to save his quote in her memory bank as she usually did. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Doctor Lecter. I do believe that it is your turn,” she reminded him, conflicting emotions and notions haunting her. She was sweating with anxiety as she awaited his inquiry, – she knew it would be a prodding one, and he was never merciful in that respect – yet she was ecstatic to be conversing with him once more. What he said often allowed her to possess insight that she would have never obtained before. For that, she was grateful; she had attained much more than she would have ever imagined with his assistance. 

“Ah, yes; quid pro quo. I had almost forgotten. Hmm, Clarice, I do have a question that I have been itching to ask; do you believe in true monogamous love? If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to discuss this in depth. I’ve been pondering it for a week or so now,” Hannibal asked.

Clarice was stunned. What was she to say after such a question from such a merciless man? Was it wrong to discuss this with him? Was she committing a sin if she answered? Also, what did this mean? Why was he pondering the idea of monogamous love? As she attempted to answer these questions, more arose; it was nearly impossible for all of her inquiries to be answered by some magical force.

‘I guess that I’ll just have to answer this. There’s no way around it,’ she thought, silently praying that there was naught against such a discussion.

“Well, it would depend on a person’s upbringing; some parents give their children bad examples of love. However, I do believe that it exists for some people. It is becoming rarer and rarer, though,” Clarice replied, reminding herself sternly to keep her tone as metallic as possible. 

Hannibal nodded as if he was considering her statement. As she awaited his reaction, she found herself gently grazing the rough, rusting metal of the chair that she was sitting upon. The metal was frigid to the touch, but with the stifling heat of the asylum, the icy sensation on her fingertips was welcoming. 

“Indeed,” he said simply, his one word response seeming to reveal that he had a different purpose for asking that question. Clarice was befuddled to what he could actually be getting at, but it would be rather easy to figure that out. He would be required to adhere to the rules of quid pro quo.

“It’s my turn, Doctor Lecter; why did you ask that question? Out of all of the things that you could have asked, why did you ask that, sir?”

“My dear Clarice, I do believe that you have a serial killer to catch.”

“Tell me, dammit! I have the right to know!”

Hannibal smirked, his peculiarly-colored eyes glinting in the flickering lights of his cell as he admired her frustrated expression. He longed to reach out and caress her soft cheeks, but he was well aware that he couldn’t do so until he escaped his hellish entrapment. If only he could touch her once.

“My dear Starling, if only you could dissect my mind as everyone else hopes to. You would stumble upon your answer immediately. However, I cannot allow you to do so; it would ruin this game that we play. You too secretly obsess over this game, don’t you? We both race to defile each other with desperation that is unseen within any therapy session,” he replied, deliberately tap-dancing around the subject as he always managed to do.

“Doctor Lecter, you always scold me on how it is rude to not answer questions that you are asked. Please answer me,” she asked calmly.

He chuckled and shot her a smirk, his eyes glinting playfully as he watched her fiddle with her chair. She got riled up oh so very easily. It only took one unsatisfactory response. She was much like him in that way, aside from the fact that he was far more patient than she was. Or, at least, he carried himself that way.

“It’s many things. However, I’m genuinely interested in your worldview. You intrigue me,” he answered. He wouldn’t just present the whole truth to her on a silver platter. She had to work for it if she truly wanted all of the answers. As flustered as she may be by that fact, she was well aware that he didn’t present answers beyond what he had to.

“Fine. It’s your turn, Doctor Lecter,” her voice was emotionless. She’d learned quite a bit in the time she had spent with him. For example, she had discovered that emotion was only a pesky thing when it came to interviewing individuals that had little to no range of emotions in the first place. Hannibal, however, was simply guarded. He was a sensitive, but he preferred to prod than express the emotions he experienced.

“Hm. Well, Clarice, I’ve been wondering. How do you feel when you’re doing your job? Is it a roller coaster? Is it quite a menial task? Or perhaps, do you love it, even the gore that you observe?” he changed the topic deliberately. He knew the answers to some of those questions, but he needed to get the ball rolling in a different direction.

She pondered for a moment, nodding slightly as she mused. She thought about her work a lot, but one of the first things that came to mind was Jack Crawford. He made her work far more awkward than it needed to be, and he treated her as if she were a squeamish stay-at-home-mom that fainted at the sight of a little blood. Perhaps she wanted to work beneath a different supervisor, but she did enjoy her job. Sure, the gore wasn’t her favorite part, but she had become desensitized to it by that point, just as she had been desensitized to the way Hannibal’s eyes bore into her.

“I enjoy my line of work, although I do wish that I could work for someone else. Jack Crawford doesn’t take me seriously and it bugs the hell out of me,” Clarice responded. Hannibal felt delighted, however he stifled a chuckle at her polite slander towards the way Jack Crawford had treated her. He had found his behavior towards her be quite discourteous indeed. And what was to be done about that?

“Interesting tidbit. Your turn,” Hannibal said simply, a polite smile playing across his features. His maroon eyes shone with intrigue.

Clarice considered possible questions, her mind racing, but she couldn’t come up with any ones related to the previous question. Settling for a question that had been plaguing her for a while, she spoke, wary of the steadiness of her voice.

“Doctor Lecter, why is it exactly that you find me so interesting? You’ve spoken to insane people. Why is it that I’m one of the people that you will converse so freely with?” Clarice didn’t care about Buffalo Bill at this point. 

Hannibal hummed, spinning on his heel as he paced about his room. His features were contemplative. He wanted to offer a genuine answer, and there was no reason to tease on this question. He spun once more to face her and he approached the glass, sitting on the floor once more.

“Clarice, insanity is only interesting on the surface. Sanity is only vaguely interesting in itself. I don’t pick and choose my acquaintances based upon their mental and physical stability. What I’m interested in, I suppose, is how you are polite and intelligent, receptive to criticism, and you follow my social cues,” he didn’t add that these were also the reasons that he had fallen for her, but he didn’t see it fit for the conversation they were having. He had lost his grip on romance anyway. This was romantic to him – unadulterated genuine conversation. It reminded him of his days as a psychiatrist, bored to death by many uninteresting patients, until he finally met someone who intrigued him.

Clarice nodded. It seemed sincere enough. Hannibal wasn’t one to blatantly lie to her. She was startled by the fact that he hadn’t shown any trepidation in responding to her question. He always worded things so eloquently and she felt unintelligent and small in comparison.

“I’m honored that you feel that way, Doctor Lecter. You’re the most intelligent man I’ve ever known,” she mumbled, her eyes darting around the hallway, searching for something, anything to rest on for a moment. She knew if she found herself gazing up into Hannibal’s maroon eyes, she would find herself lost; there was so much to learn from them.

Hannibal offered a small smile and closed his eyes as he assume the meditation position once more.

“You’re welcome, Clarice.”


End file.
